


The Cliffs of Delphi: Tarn's Mask

by GreyLiliy



Series: The Cliffs Of Delphi [4]
Category: The Transformers (IDW Generation One)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Gender Changes, Alternate Universe - Human, Alternate Universe - Victorian, Gen, Scars
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-28
Updated: 2014-02-28
Packaged: 2018-01-14 01:08:05
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 5,230
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1247014
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GreyLiliy/pseuds/GreyLiliy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Pharma’s hopes of receiving Tarn’s patronage rests in a tour of the asylum, and to his utter distress, the man absolutely insists on seeing the patients face to face.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

A tour.

Of course he wanted a tour. Pharma paced back and forth in his office, a hand buried in his hair and biting the edge of his thumb on the other. If Tarn was to invest, it made nothing but perfect sense that he’d want to see what he was pouring money into. Pharma stopped in the center of his room and groaned, rubbing his face. There in lay his problem: The Asylum was a mess.

It was what he needed money for in the first place!

What if Tarn didn’t see that? What if he just saw the dust, the aged equipment, and the less than adequate housing, and decided Pharma wasn’t worth his time? This was his last shot! If Tarn…if Tarn left, Pharma would have to close the Asylum.

"You’re going to ruin your carpet," First Aid said, setting a tray of tea down on the edge of his desk. She set out the extra cups, preparing for their eminent company and shook her head. "Would you relax? Mr. Tarn seemed like a fine man when he last visited. He didn’t even mind that you were an hour late meeting him! I’m sure everything will go smoothly."

"Easy for you to say," Pharma said, dropping his hands at his side. He pointed at the older woman and had to look away when he saw her top unbottoned enough to catch sight of her undershirt. Pharma turned away and stared hard at the wall. "If the asylum crumbles, you can just go home to your rich papa!"

"Pharma!" First Aid gasped, slamming the sugar tray down on the table. She gathered her skirt in a fist, and stompped her foot. "That was uncalled for! And after all I’ve done to help keep this place running!"

"I’m sorry, I’m sorry" Pharma sighed, rubbing his face. He took a few steps backward and sat on his couch. "That was cruel. Forgive me, I’m stressed and not thinking clearly."

"Well you’d best calm down, because you if you act like that when Mr. Tarn gets here, you really will lose his money!" First Aid rolled her eyes and continued setting up the tea. After the extra cups were set out and the sugar in its proper place, she rolled her sleeves back down and made sure her dress was buttoned up. At least Pharma didn’t need to worry over that. She smoothed down her apron and checked her shoes for scuffs. "You really should relax."

"I’ll relax when he’s gone and has promised us an allowance," Pharma said, rolling his head back. He licked the back of his teeth.

"And if he doesn’t, we’ll just think of something else." First Aid dropped a napkin on his face, and poked his nose through the fabric. "We won’t let the asylum close, Pharma. So take a breath and relax. There’s nothing to worry about."

"You’re right," Pharma said. He wiped his face off with the cloth napkin, and stood back up. She took the cloth back and stuffed it in the pocket of her apron. "You’re always right. I swear, it isn’t fair."

"Life’s not fair," she smirked. First Aid reached up and straightened Pharma’s vest and tie. He held his breath as her slim fingers moved to his shoulders and closed his eyes. First Aid smacked him once on the chest, and put her hand on her hip. "Now stop your pouting, he’s sure to be here any moment."

Pharma touched his vest where her fingers had been, and sighed looking at the clock. Any moment was right. The time was nearing three o’clock, and Tarn assured them he’d be there close to the hour. Pharma looked himself over in the mirror, and smoothed down his carrot-red hair.

A knock came on the door—three solid hits; Ambulon’s warning cue.

"Speak of the devil," Pharma muttered to himself. He looked at First Aid, who gave a tiny ‘okay’ sign with he rhand, and poured the first cup of tea. Pharma raised his voice, and readied himself for anything. "Come in!"

Ambulon opened the door, the large form of the artistocratic patron hovered just behind his dear friend. Tarn followed Ambulon into the room, and his presense demanded all attention from his sheer size, to the way that he held himself in the fine tailored suit. Pharma barely noticed his manservant Vos standing just to his side, with how his eyes locked straight on the taller man. Ambulon joined First Aid in the corner of the room, and stood at the ready.

"Mr. Tarn!" Pharma said, clasping his hands together. Tarn smiled, the powder of make-up on his cheeks crinkling just a bit. A real sign of money—being able to afford such luxury as make up to hide the spare blemish or two. Pharma sucked in a breath: Showtime. "Right on time. How was your trip?"

"It was pleasant," Tarn said, placing a hand in his pocket as he walked around the office. He dragged a finger alongside the edge of the liquor cabinet, disturbing the thin layer of dust. "I always enjoy a ride through the countryside."

Pharma licked his lips, and nodded. For such a plesant ride, Tarn wasn’t smiling. He looked…disinterested. First Aid cleared her throat, and nodded at the tray ready and waiting on the desk. Good call. “Could I intest you in some tea and sweets before we begin?”

"Perhaps after," Tarn said. He rubbed his fingers together, brushing off the dust from the gloves. Tarn slipped the coverings off his hands, and placed them in his jacket pocket. "I’d like to get the tour started as soon as possible, if you don’t mind. No time like the present to see where my money might be going."

"Naturally," Pharma said. He held a hand out toward the door that lead to the main building from his office, and bowed a bit. "Shall we start with the common areas? Visitation, the kitchens, and staff quarters?"

"If you feel that’s the best place to start," Tarn said, his lips twisting into a mocking little smile.

Tarn walked ahead of him, and opened the door on his own. His bodyguard followed, face emotionless and flat—though the sneering glare was crystal clear in his eyes. Ambulon bit his lip, and First Aid smoothed down her dress as she frowned at the ignored tea tray.

"Perfect," Pharma said under his breath. He jogged to catch up with the giant who had already stuck his head into the dining room door.


	2. Chapter 2

Pharma gripped the operating room table edge as Tarn poked at the equipment cart. Pharma was going to lose the money. Tarn was bored. They’d been through the visiting rooms, the staff quarters, the kitchens, and two example patient rooms already, and Tarn hadn’t so much as twitched an eyebrow in interest. This was his last hope. Pharma curled his fingers into his palm. If Tarn wasn’t impressed by his operating room, then nothing would save him.

Tarn picked up a scalpel, and twisted it between his fingers. It looked like a tooth pick in his massive hands. Even through his worry, Pharma still found room to marvel at the man’s massive size. He was almost a literal giant, with his head a few inches below every ceiling. He had to duck to go through the doorways. Pharma heard a clink as Tarn put the scalpel down and sighed heavily, like he was disappointed.

"I apologize for the poor condition of some of my tools," Pharma said quickly. He pat the worn table-top with his palm, and tried to remain positive. Perhaps he was just mourning the lack of care, and thinking of how badly the asylum needed his money. Pharma rubbed his fingers into the scratched table. "But replacing them is a top priority."

"Of course."

Tarn didn’t even turn to look at him. Pharma cleared his throat, and took a shot in the dark. Perhaps with more information, he could tell the man what he needed to hear to cough up the money! Pharma placed a hand over his heart. “Forgive me for asking, but what are your thoughts? You look dreadfully unimpressed, and considering the state and the need of the asylum, I’m not quite sure what you were expecting.”

"This place is oddly empty, don’t you think?" Tarn asked, taking half a seat on the operating table. It creaked ominously under his weight, and Pharma prayed it held. Tarn clicked his tongue. "Without any patients, I’m wondering why on earth you even want to keep the place open in the first place. I’ve been here for an hour and yet to see a single person outside of you and your staff."

"Without patients?" Pharma asked, tilting his head off to the side. What on earth was Tarn going on about? He had at least twenty patients in the building—It struck Pharma like a brick, and he covered his mouth. The patients! "Oh! Oh, sir. Of course we have patients! But they get nervous, you see. I didn’t want to surprise them with unexpected company, which is why I had a few rooms cleared out temporarily for your visit. So you could inspect their quarters, without upsetting them."

"And you didn’t think to mention that at the start of your tour, or while we were wandering through the bedrooms?" Tarn smiled a bit. He got off the table and pushed his hands back into his pockets. Pharma felt his face flushing as red as his hair, and Tarn laughed at him. "What a thing to slip your mind, doctor!"

"I suppose I’m more nervous than I thought," Pharma said. He held his hands together, and shifted his weight to the side. "If anything, that should tell you how desperately in need we are of your patronage. The peace of mind that knowing my patients would be cared for, would relieve such a burden."

"I want to see them," Tarn said. He slicked his hair back, and hummed. Tarn wrapped his knuckles on the table top and leaned over Pharma. Amusement flickered in his eyes, and it turned Pharma’s stomach. "These precious patients of yours."

"Forgive me, sir," Pharma said, squeezing his hands tighter together. "But that would be quite impossible. Their care comes first, and they really do not react well to strangers."

"I’m sure it’s nothing you can’t handle, doctor," Tarn said. He smiled wide enough to show his teeth, and the man’s chest rumbled as he laughed. "It should be entertaining, watching you work so very hard to control them."

"They are not a side show to be mocked, sir. They are sick men and women who require specialized care." Pharma stilled, dropping his hands to his side. He squared his shoulders, standing straighter. "You can’t see them, not at the risk of doing more damage to their broken minds."

"Let me make something very clear, doctor," Tarn said, the humor dropping from his voice faster than a rock over the cliff edge. He slammed his hand on the operating table and leaned down until he was nose to nose with Pharma. His voice was heavy, low, and there was an edge to it that twisted like a knife into Pharma’s gut. "If I don’t see your patients, face to face, you won’t be getting so much as a farthing from me. Do you understand?"

"Crystal," Pharma said, gritting the back of his teeth together. His legs trembled, Tarn’s size suddenly far less amusing than earlier. Pharma swallowed heavily, and grabbed the table edge again. "I’m sure I’ve got a patient or two calm enough to handle a short visit."

"All of them, Pharma," Tarn continued. He tapped Pharma’s vest with a finger and smiled before backing up. "I want to see them all, from the best behaved to your most ravenous, lunatic."

"But," Pharma said, "that might not be safe. I have to protest, for your own well being."

"Trust me, dear doctor," Tarn said, slipping off his suit jacket to hang on his arm. "I can handle myself just fine. I want to see the worst this place has to offer, after all, which would you prefer? An upset patient, or a dead one after your little asylum crumbles and the state puts them down?"

"Right this way," Pharma said, leaving the room. He bit the edge of his lip hard, and counted to ten. He needed the money. Putting up with spoiled, rich brats was part of the territory and he should have expected this. Pharma just knew his last visit with Tarn had gone too well! He’d make this quick, get Tarn out, and pray that his pockets were a little fuller when the other man left. "The patients upstairs are the more stable ones, in other words, nothing ‘interesting.’ So, we’ll start with the basement."

"Sounds perfect," Tarn said, a little too joyfully. There was an extra bounce in his step as he caught up alongside Pharma, his faithful dog Vos trotting at his heel. "I take it those are the screamers?"

"If you want to put it that way," Pharma said. He pulled his key-ring up from his belt, and jammed the large brass key into the basement door lock. "Watch your step, and mind your ears. They do rather have a tendency to yell and scream when they’ve been startled."

"Im sure I’ll be fine," Tarn said. He snapped his fingers, looking up suddenly. Tarn turned behind, and looked at Vos. "You can wait up here."

"Sir," Vos said, speaking for the first time since he’d walked into the building. "I must insist—"

"We wouldn’t want to upset the patients more than necessary, would we?" Tarn said, patting the man on the arm. "Go wait with the Nurse and the assistant. After the basement, we can all have tea."

"Of course," Vos said. Tarn handed the man his coat, and Vos took it without question. Again, his face never changed expressions, but the glare he shot at Pharma was so venomous the poison would have melted through steel. "I’ll be waiting."

"Now then," Tarn said, smiling like a fox. "Shall we, doctor?"

"Not much of a choice," Pharma said, muttering under his breath.

Tarn laughed, loud and looming behind him as they trailed down the steep basement steps to the lower cells.


	3. Chapter 3

As he tapped down from the last step, Pharma was met with the usual chatter of the basement. Red Alert’s muttering was a constant string of jabber under the sporadic cries and sobs of the poor man’s neighbors who filled the cells. It was a familiar and welcome sound, coming from the farthest corner of the room’s back wall.

As long as Pharma could hear the sounds from the back wall, he knew that all was well.

Red Alert’s conversations with himself, steady and in time with the drip bucket. The leak in the ceiling provided a constant drip of water that kept in time with Red’s muttering and the shifting of bodies. It meant that everything was normal. They only worried when Red was silent or screaming.

He was practically Pharma’s little canary.

Pharma grabbed the lantern off the chair near the door, and held it up to cast light on the metal bars that lined either side of the single hallway in the large basement. Hands reached through the bars, grasping for the soft glow, or curled away and hissed to get away from it.

Both were also normal.

Tarn stepped down behind Pharma, his bulk filling the doorway and blocking the hall light. Pharma held his breath and waited for an adverse reaction from the patients. Tarn was huge, a stranger, and had an air of importance about him that demanded attention. Pharma knew that this was going to be trouble. He expected screaming, crying, new wails and slurred words that could insult his aristocratic nature.

"It seems your worries were just worries," Tarn whispered, mouth close to Pharma’s ear. He took the lantern from Pharma and held it high over the shorter man’s head, bathing the light farther into each cell. All eyes locked onto Tarn, and there was almost a hush as breathes were held and bodies trembled. "This isn’t so bad, now is it?"

"The behaviors of the mad continue to be surprising," Pharma said, jumping up to grab the lantern back, and dimmed the light back down to their immediate surrounding. "Even for those of us who are used to it."

"I find most of life to be surprising one way or another," Tarn said. He strolled down the hallway as leisurely as if he were browsing the market stalls, glancing into each cell as he went. His interest in the asylum was far more obvious now that he had people to gawk at. Pharma dropped his shoulders and walked behind with the lantern. Tarn said, "It’s what keeps life entertaining."

"I suppose," Pharma said. Tarn stopped at the fourth cell, and bit the edge of his lip. He kept watching the patient steadily, fixated in a way that made the doctor’s stomach churn. Pharma asked, "Something wrong?"

"He’s a rather big fellow, isn’t he? Not often I see someone my size," Tarn said. He took hold of the bar and leaned on it. The metal creaked as the joints shifted to accept Tarn’s weight. In a tone that suggest he already knew the answer, Tarn asked, "What’s his name?"

"Fortress Maximus," Pharma said. He held the lantern through the bar, and looked over the quiet man. Max’s gaze was locked forward, and his hands rested neatly folded his lap as he sat straight up on his bunk. He was still as a statue, staring for as long as he could before his body required him to blink without his consent. Pharma watched Tarn’s face. "He doesn’t move, or react to much of anything. Sit him quietly in a corner and he behaves."

"Not much of a madness," Tarn said, smiling, leaning heavily on the bars. He wrapped his fingers around the bars, and licked his lips. "However did he find his way here?"

"The hospital dropped him off," Pharma said, slowly and carefully. "Aside from his doll-like state, he’s in perfect health. They had no where else to put him. No friends, no family, so he became our little ornament."

"Shame," Tarn laughed suddenly. He continued chuckling, hard and hearty as if he were thinking of a joke. Turning back toward Pharma, and slapping the bars with his hand, Tarn generously shared what was on his mind. "It makes you wonder what _lords over_ his mind, to have put him in such a state.”

Fortress Maximus’ finger twitched, and something in Pharma shivered as Tarn’s chest continued to rumble in laughter. Pharma had missed the punchline, and he wasn’t sure he wanted to get the joke.

Maybe this was a mistake.

Tarn walked away and hummed as he looked in the other cells, tapping his fingers along the iron. Pharma clutched to the lantern handle tighter. First Aid was right. There were other ways to get the money. Perhaps he should back out now, while Tarn was in a good mood. Then he’d just deny the money and leave them be. Pharma could ask someone else—

"Well, well, if it isn’t a new monster that’s come to visit little old us," a woman’s voice called from the last cell. She laughed, and the teasing voice distracted Pharma from his worries. "Or rather an aristocrat—not much of a difference, if you ask me."

_Of all days for her to be lucid,_ Pharma thought to himself.

Arcee. His most dangerous and mad patient of the lot. Most of the time, night or day, she spent her waking moments growling and snarling. Glaring. Incoherent babbling and threats spilled from her mouth in feral gibberish. She was truly mad, and worst of it all—stronger than an ox. The straight jackets barely restrained her, and Pharma had seen her first hand break someone’s arm.

Or bite through it.

Pharma’d seen her bite chunks of flesh off a careless orderly’s arm, too. She was a bit of a wild beast, truth be told. It was why they kept her in the farthest cell from the door, flush with the back wall and the drip bucket. Gave them more room to tackle her and should she break free during her weekly clothing change.

But then there were moments like these, where her mind decided to come out to play—full and total lucidity that gave Pharma an inch of hope for recovery. However, she chose to use these moments to spew forth nothing but foul words and insults.

The sort of words and insults that might anger someone with a lot of power who could destroy Pharma far more through a bad reputation than simply denying him much needed funds.

"Tarn," Pharma said, quickly running to the aristocrat’s side. Tarn had already moved to stand in front of her cell, watching the woman as she pressed her face against the bar. She knelt on the ground, her hands bound behind her back in the jacket and filthy hair rubbing against the bars. "Pay Arcee no mind, you’ll only encourage her."

"Feisty little thing, isn’t she? Look at that soot and dirt on her face, and that poorly kept hair. Such a shame," Tarn chuckled, kicking the edge of the bar. Arcee hissed at him, and moved her arms in the restraints behind her back. "She was a pretty thing once, I bet."

"Like you?" Arcee smirked, stilling.

"Arcee?" Pharma asked, locking eyes with the mad woman. He heard the click. The belt loop breaking and Pharma’s heart stopped. "Arcee!"

Faster than he could blink, the back end of the jacket dropped free and her arm had shot through the bars. She grabbed the water bucket, near full, and pulled it into her cell. Tarn and Pharma watched cautiously, though Tarn was smiling for some odd reason. He looked downright impressed that she’d freed herself from her restraints.

Pharma was too busy trying to start breathing again to congratulate her.

"Let’s see that pretty face of yours," Arcee growled, shifting her grip on the bucket.

"No!" Pharma shouted in the same moment that Arcee threw the water at Tarn’s face with every inch of her muscle.

Tarn didn’t say anything when the entire bucket’s worth of water smacked him straight between the eyes, but he did turn away and lean over to scrape off the excess. He rubbed at his face, a tiny growl as he dislodged the clinging water and bits of algae. Tarn flicked his hand, showering droplets of water over Red Alert in the cell directly across from Arcee. Tarn’s hair was wet and his make up dripped onto the collar of his shirt.

Pharma felt his stomach drop to his feet and rushed over to the other man. Arcee chuckled in her cell, the voice clear and gentle. She sounded like a lady in the park laughing with a friend, and Pharma was close to strangling her.

"Tarn! Are you alright? Let me help…" Pharma trailed off, holding up the lantern to get a better look at what had stolen his voice. He whispered, eyes wide and mouth agape, "Your—your face."

Arcee dropped the bucket back into the hallway, leaning on the bars and grinning like the devil. “Now who used to be the pretty thing?”


	4. Chapter 4

Tarn’s make up, that Pharma had mistaken for a light powder, turned to be in truth a thick paste. Soaked from the water, it schlopped off with a brush of Tarn’s hand, hitting the ground in thick clumps. He scowled at the wet goop, irritation drawing his brows together and his teeth clenched.

Pharma gaped.

Between the sopping patches of foundation, were scars—masses of them, covering nearly every inch of skin on Tarn’s face. Straight cuts, jagged and jerky patches of skin and a few that Pharma recognized as old burns. They crisscrossed and stacked, some old and some new—it’d taken time to put together this masterpiece. A particularly large one cut from his brow through Tarn’s left eye, and dropped into a curved burn that shaped around the bag under his eye. There was more scar tissue than healthy skin.

It was fairly horrific to see so much damage at all, let alone all on one’s face. Pharma closed his mouth sharply,and looked away. It wasn’t his business, and if Tarn went to all that trouble to cover it up with caked powder than he ought to stop staring.

"Aw, the little doctor thinks you’re pretty," Arcee said, rubbing her cheek against the bar. "Look at him! Had to look away to keep from staring."

"You blasted wench," Pharma hissed. He clutched the lantern tightly and smacked the bar. "Why I should—"

"It’s fine, doctor," Tarn said, pulling a loose glop off his face. He dropped it on the ground and glared at it. Tarn rubbed the side of his cheek and rubbed his fingers together, swirling the flesh-colored mix. "I’m hoping you’ve at least had enough money to afford a wash basin?"

"Of-of course," Pharma said. He glared at the woman who may have just cost him everything and hurried down the hall to catch up with the quick aristocrat.

Arcee cackled and hung off the bars, the belts of her jacket swaying in the air. Red Alert whimpered, and the sounds followed Pharma the entire length of the hall as more and more started to scream and wail from the unexpected noise.

At the top of the stairs, Pharma found his first bit of good fortune: Ambulon—staring very intently at the wall instead of Tarn two feet to the side. He had a small tray of eaten snacks and tea—First Aid’s doing no doubt. His hands were shaking, and eyes glassy. Pharma cleared his throat, and shoved the lantern over into the fingers trying to clutch the tray.

"Arcee broke out of her jacket," Pharma said, calmly. He could save this. He’d prove that they could maintain discipline and reacted appropriately to mishaps like this. "Go dress her up again, and sedate her."

"Understood," Ambulon said, sneaking a peak at Tarn’s face instead of moving.

"Now," Pharma hissed, smacking his friend in the side.

"Right," Amublon replied, snapping out of his trance. He set the tray on a side table in the hallway and hurried down the stairwell.

A drop of liquid hit the stone floor of the hallway, and Pharma clasped his hands together and bowed his head a bit. “I am dreadfully sorry about this, I am. I’ll fill the wash basin myself for you, so that you can clean up.”

Tarn didn’t reply, but he did follow Pharma down the hallway toward his personal quarters. Pharma had the best bath in the entire asylum, and this was one time where his privacy could be ignored. He opened the door and grabbed two large towels from the cupboard in his room, and laid them out on the bathtub. Tarn watched him from the doorway as Pharma poured the water from the waiting pitcher into the little sink on its metal stand.

"Take your time," Pharma said, backing out of the room and dashing back into the hallway before Tarn could respond. He closed the door and leaned on it. Shaking his head and rubbing his own face. "How could this have happened?"

Pharma had ten minutes to ponder how badly things could go. Tarn’s scars were the least of his problems now. Pharma pictured everything from simply going bankrupt, to being laughed and shunned from the entire medical community because one of the richest aristocrats in the country said he wasn’t worth anyone’s time or money. Not even his connection to Ratchet would save him from that blow to his reputation. Tarn could destroy him. Ten minutes of every horrible thought that could possibly happen.

And in the eleventh minute, the door opened behind him and Pharma fell flat on his back, smacking his head against the floor.

"Ow," Pharma hissed, clutching the back of his hair.

"That doesn’t seem like the best place to stand," Tarn said. He reached down and pulled Pharma to his feet by the shoulder, as easily if he were plucking a fork from the floor. Tarn rubbed his head, ruffling the hair there like Pharma was a small child instead of a nineteen year old adult! "You really have lost your head today, haven’t you? I’m not that scary, am I?"

"No!" Pharma said, stepping back and brushing off his vest. He smoothed his hair down again, and clutched at his neck tie. "Of course not, sir. You’re not. I’m just—"

"Nervous?" Tarn smiled, stretching one of the scars across his newly cleaned face.

Each and every line, scar and burn was visible now that Tarn was free of his mask. Without the slopping mess, they fit his face better than they should. A lovely pattern of history, of smooth skin and little welts. It was almost, dare Pharma think it, roguishly attractive.

Tarn smirked as he waited for an answer through all of Pharma’s staring. The doctor blushed, and said, “Yes.”

"Don’t be," Tarn said, patting him on the back. He chuckled as he stepped out of the room, and headed down the hallway. "Not yet, anyway."

Pharma sucked in a slow breath, and exhaled. He was sure to have lost the grant, but at least Tarn wasn’t angry.

"Should I walk you to the door?" Pharma asked, rubbing his fingers together. The best he could do was make sure Tarn left in a neutral mood. No money, but a spared reputation. It would have to do! Pharma put a hand on his chest, and tightened his hand into a fist. "Or would you prefer Ambulon or Miss Aid to escort you?"

"The door?" Tarn looked over his shoulder. He lifted an eyebrow, and brushed off his sleeves. "Trying to get rid of me so quickly? I could have sworn there was a mention of tea and sweets after the tour."

"We can do that," Pharma said, eyes widening. "Forgive me, I just assumed after what happened that you’d—"

"Want to leave? Nonsense! I’m sure if anyone can keep their mouths shut about my little condition," Tarn said, tapping a finger against the scars on his face, "it’d be an asylum staff. If anything, I think you’ve proven just how badly you need the money. Maybe you’ll be able to afford straight jackets that don’t snap at the tiniest bit of effort if I threw a little bit your way."

Pharma gaped again, unable to keep his jaw closed.

"So, why don’t we have a cup of tea together, and then we’ll talk just how much money you’ll be needing," Tarn said, hitting Pharma’s jaw back up with his index finger.

"Yes!" Pharma said. He smoothed down his shirt and brushed his hair back. "I’ll tell Miss Aid to fetch something immediately. You won’t be disappointed in this decision, I can promise you that, sir!"

"I’d hope not," Tarn said, locking eyes with Pharma. "Not when things are just getting so interesting."

Pharma nodded, breathing in relief. Things were finally going his way!


End file.
